


Checking out the Opposition

by birdsofshore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Intercrural Sex, Locker Room, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parseltongue, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco seem quite wound up after their latest game of Quidditch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checking out the Opposition

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Opposites](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/44395) by kjp_013. 



> Many thanks to [traintracks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/traintracks/pseuds/traintracks) for the delightful beta job.

When the door flies open with such an almighty bang, my first thought is that someone's lobbed a Confringo at me. But it's just bloody Potter, blazing in like a force of nature, his hair sticking up at bizarre angles, and his face creased with anger. 

“You wanker, Malfoy!” 

His entrance is quite startling, to be honest; my heart's going ten to the dozen, but I carry on unlacing my shin pads, taking care to sound bored. 

“Potter? Get out. These are the Slytherin changing rooms. Did you lose your way? Or just fancy having a gawp at some pureblood cock? You'd better leave before you get caught in here.”

“I don't give a shit. You got us both sent off because you knew I'd as good as caught that Snitch and you couldn't bear to lose.” His breath comes in short pants, chest swelling to fill out his Quidditch tunic, his nostrils flaring. He must have sprinted to catch me up. He draws his hand across his forehead, but only manages to smear the sweat and mud across it and onto his cheek.

My lip curls into a sneer. “It was an accident, Potter. You can't honestly think I meant to bugger my wrist like this?” I gesture to my left arm, which is also splattered with mud, and cradle it against my chest. 

“I bet you're faking. There's nothing wrong with your wrist.” 

I frown. Always so harsh. I admit I may have exaggerated slightly when I said it had been smashed to smithereens by the fall. I'd... well, I knocked it, at least, and it definitely still looks a bit pink.

Potter holds out his Nimbus and brandishes it in my face. “Look at this! It's got a dirty great crack in it. We both know you crashed into me on purpose.” 

I allow myself a little snigger. I didn't mean to hit him so hard, though, just send him off balance a bit. I must be losing my touch. Some days, I feel like Potter sends _me_ off balance, just by bloody existing.

I go back to undoing my shin pads, drawing the fastenings smoothly from the eyelets, giving him a sideways smirk. “Hooch didn't think it was a foul. She only brought in the substitutes because I'm injured, and your broom's temporarily knackered.” I shrug. “I don't know what the fuss is about, you can get that old thing fixed.”

I can tell it has really got to him, which is terribly amusing. There's something I've always enjoyed about seeing him like this with his face all flushed and his eyes glinting. 

“They're never the same when they've been damaged.” His voice shakes a bit as he speaks. “The steering is always off.” He shoves the broom towards me again.

“Do you mind?” I push it away from my face, knocking it down towards the ground. “Chuck it, then. It's not like it was much good in the first place.”

His knuckles whiten. I glance up at his face, and, I don't know, something makes me get up in a hurry. I'm not sure whether I'm planning to run, or defend myself, but at the same moment, Potter steps forward and grabs hold of my new Aurora broomstick from where it's propped against the wall. Before I can get my wand from my pocket, he swings the Aurora up so it collides with my chest. The wand flies from my hand, and I stand pressed against the wall, trapped by the length of the broomstick across my ribs and biceps, with Potter leaning in to keep me there. 

I try to grab at him, but with the broom keeping my arms firmly pinned against the wall, my hands grasp empty air, and I feel the blood drain away from my face as my eyes dart to my wand lying useless on the floor. 

Potter's breathing has not slowed down; if anything, his chest is rising and falling more quickly, and I can see a pulse beating at his temples. He's close enough that I can smell him: the leather of his gloves, the woodsmoke of that stupid cologne he wears, and underneath it, the musky, sweet sweat from a game of Quidditch, played hard and fast. 

“Let me go,” I say. My voice squeaks a bit at the end. 

Potter leans on the broom, letting it dig into my ribs, and watches in satisfaction as my face screws up with discomfort. 

“You bastard, Potter. You'll break something.”

“You broke my broom.” He leans in a little heavier. “Maybe I'll break yours.” 

There's an edge of cruelty in his voice, a touch of something dangerous shining in his eye. A bizarre excitement wells up within me and bubbles to the surface. I'm trapped, wandless... Potter has the indisputable upper hand. But there's a heady thrill about this familiar duel for supremacy. And perhaps, I feel a touch of giddiness at my own helpless position.

I can see perspiration beading above his top lip, and something makes my tongue dart out to lick across my own. He blinks, looking startled, and the motion of his dark lashes sweeping across those vivid eyes catches my attention. As I glance up, our eyes lock and a jolt travels right through me. His pupils are wide and inky-black. 

He leans closer still, until I can feel his breath sweeping across my cheek. The broom is pinning me in place, unyielding, biting with a satisfying pain; I'll have bruises tomorrow. I can feel the heat, the power, smouldering from his body, like standing next to a furnace. He draws a breath to speak, and then we both hear footsteps outside. His head whips round even as my fingers flick towards the door. 

“ _Colloportus_ ,” I cast without thinking. Locking a door is the only wandless spell I've ever really mastered. There are times that you just don't want to be disturbed.

The handle rattles and then I hear Harper's rough voice: “Sodding door's stuck again.”

“Let's go and change in Ravenclaw instead." It sounds like Vaisey. The footsteps retreat.

I let out a long breath, but when I look back at Potter, he's drawn back, his face tight with suspicion. 

“Why did you do that? Why didn't you want them to come in?” He lets up the pressure on the broom a little, but his whole body is alert, his muscles tensed, his eyes sweeping across my face. 

“I—” My heart is knocking against my ribs. Why _had_ I done it? Harper and Vaisey would have come in, seen what was happening, and could have had their wands drawn in a moment. Potter would have been outnumbered... I can come up with no answer, except for the feeling that it isn't yet time for this to be finished.

He shouts in my face, looking oddly panicked. “Damn it, Malfoy, what are you up to?” He moves the broom up against my collarbone, edging it towards my throat. If he moves it any higher it'll start to restrict my breathing. 

I struggle against him, our bodies almost pressed together now. I manage to twist my face into a sneer as I fight to get free. “This isn't over, Potter. You think you've won, but you don't know—”

He angles his body, jamming his hip against mine to keep me flat against the wall, and then—

And then—

And then his face changes, and in an instant I know why. I can't believe how I'd missed it before, really, now that it's so completely fucking obvious, and there is absolutely bugger all I can do about it.

Our skirmish has brought Potter into contact with my sizeable hard-on, and his face lets me know that he understands exactly what is digging into him through the stupid, thin material. 

“Malfoy...” Potter breathes. His face is twisted - with confusion, or horror, I can't tell.

I feel my already flushed face become redder. I just... I can't tell you how much I don't need this. This utter humiliation, this revelation that I am as hard as a harpy's heart, standing there in the draughty changing room, all because... because what? Because Harry bloody Potter has me pinned to the wall and is pressing his Seeker-fit body against mine. And my cock is trying to get as close to him as it can. 

The worst thing, damn it, is that it isn't the first time I've become... interested, when Potter and I have squared off to one another. I've always told myself that it's a normal thing, just what happens to your body when you're full of adrenalin and testosterone and you really, really hate someone. Sometimes I manage to convince myself more than others. I always think it won't happen again... until the next time. I've obviously got so bloody accustomed to it that it's barely even worthy of note.

I will Potter not to look down. It'll be just my luck if the stupid git doesn't know that getting erections when you're fighting is... well, really normal. Normal, and healthy, and really, it means nothing at all. I feel as if I can explain this away, convince him that he'd made a mistake, as long as he doesn't _see_... Yet the thought of him doing so, of seeing my Quidditch leggings tented and stretched as I know they are, with the unmistakeable shape of my cock straining towards him... it makes me _ache_.

“Malfoy...” His eyes narrow as he speaks. “You like this. You _like_ it when I've got you like this.” He watches my face, an edgy smile twitching at his lips.

I swallow uneasily, my throat parched. I could have a decent stab at Obliviating him, if I could just get to my wand... I hold his gaze, silently commanding him not to look down... no... no... Potter, _no_....fuck it, he's going to look. 

As if in slow motion, his eyes travel downwards, and mine are drawn along with them. His breath hitches as we both stare at the stretched material, tightly outlining just how much my traitorous body is enjoying this. And then I realise, about a second before he does. I can see the exact moment that he catches on, the look of discomfort starting to cross his face, the moment that he becomes aware of his own not-so-little problem, and notices me noticing it too. Because, ladies and gentlemen, Harry Potter is getting a hard-on for me, and it is flourishing by the second. 

I rock my head back against the wall for a second and close my eyes. This puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. I roll my hips experimentally, brushing myself up against him. Potter freezes. I do it again, dragging my cock over his length and, oh Merlin, Potter lets out the most delightful sound. He groans, deep in his chest, and his grasp on the broom goes slack.

This is all terribly distracting, but my mind is racing on, several steps ahead. I could keep up that friction, rub against him another couple of times until his attention is completely elsewhere, then use the broom to knock him away, and quickly snatch up my wand. 

I give another long, slow roll of the hips, putting everything I have into it. Dear god, is it my imagination, or is Potter packing something impressive under those robes of his? The thin layers of material between us might as well not be there. I can feel the thickness of it, the way it swells even further at my touch. Potter's mouth falls open slightly and his eyes flutter closed.

Once more. _Nnnngh._ That does actually feel... quite good. Surely he has to be fully erect now, or else he's hung like a Centaur. 

Another deep rumbling groan emerges from his lips, vibrating against my body as I bring my knee up between his legs. Now would be the perfect time to take him by surprise. Yes, now, as his teeth find his lower lip and tug at the plumpness of it. I should definitely act now, and I will, just as soon as I've had time to appreciate properly what it's like to feel Potter's cock nuzzle against mine, to have my knee snug between his thighs, as he drops one hand and grabs at my bum, the broom now purely in the blasted way. 

I snatch another look at my wand on the floor, judging the distance, and then Potter lets go of the broom altogether and just cups my arse with those big hands, pulling me in flush against the heat and hardness of his body, the broom trapped between us. I hear a noise, something like the whining, complaining sound of a door, creaky with disuse, and it takes a few moments before I realise it's coming from my throat and that instead of leaping for my wand, I've let my head drop back and... oh, hell, I am _grinding_ myself against him for all I am worth.

His hands squeeze me covetously, almost painfully. His breath huffs damp against my throat, and then he pulls away, my broomstick dropping to the floor, thudding down with that strangely musical sound that turned wood makes when it hits a hard floor. 

“Watch it!” I say, sagging against the wall, annoyingly out of breath. “That's a bloody decent broom, you know, not like your useless old—”

I don't get to finish. Potter lets out a kind of a snarl, his eyes flashing savagely, and spins me around so I'm facing away from him. My hands hit the wall, and I brace myself to stop my face from being squashed into it. Potter keeps a possessive hand on my hip, and then his wand prods against the side of my neck.

A sickly shiver of fear trickles down my spine as I realise I have totally missed the moment of escape. Potter is armed, apparently furious, and behaving so unpredictably that I have no idea what's coming next. His breath is rough and fast, close to my ear. 

“I don't care about your broom, Malfoy.” His wand digs uncomfortably into the soft skin of my throat.

“Potter...” I try to keep my voice steady. “Let me go.”

He grasps my hip harder, gouging with his fingers. “I don't think I will. I think...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I think you like this. You like it when I've got you where I want you.”

Oh, dear god. I have to clamp my lips together to stop a whimper escaping. He closes the distance between us, his erection pressing insistently against the curve of my arse. 

“I could do whatever I wanted, couldn't I? No-one will disturb us.” Potter steps backwards for a moment and, keeping his wand at my throat – the bastard! – he stretches out a leg to kick my wand right across the room, far, far out of reach. “And – what a shame – you've got no wand.”

I swear under my breath, trying to think, trying to ignore the maddening sensation of Potter's free hand rubbing along my side, sidling under my tunic, the leather of his fingerless gloves cold and smooth where it brushes my skin, his fingers hot and firm against my waist.

Without warning, he pulls at me and twists my body to face the slatted wooden bench I'd been resting on to get changed. He pushes at my back, trying to bend me over, but there is no way I am going to make this easy for him.

“Get down, Malfoy.” We struggle together, my limbs all angles and his all taut muscle. “Put your bloody hands on the seat.”

“Fuck off! I'm not your—”

“Fucking _do it_.”

Something in his voice makes my body obey before I'm conscious of making the decision. I bend and grip the slats, my fingers prickling with sweat.

There's silence except for the leaky shower dripping rhythmically in the next room. I think I hear Potter swallow, and then he's on me again, pushing up my top, his hands tracing lines across my back, down my sides, towards my hips, making me tremble.

He pulls at my hips, adjusting me, pressing my head down until my back is flat. He nudges at my legs, spreading them. Having him move me around like this, _letting him_ do it... my knees start to shake a little, and I hang on to the wooden slats with slippery fingers to steady myself. I can hear his breath catch, and when he starts to rub the length of his erection along the line of my buttocks, it's so tentative at first, that I find myself fighting an urge to press backwards, to feel that fabulous thickness. The blood is rushing to my head as I lean over with my arse sticking up, and... fuck it. I push back against him and it feels bloody good, just right. He slides it up between my cheeks with such a sweet, unhurried motion, and I whimper and push against him, wanting more friction.

“Jesus, Malfoy...” His voice breaks at the end. His fingers fumble at the waistband of my leggings, trying to tug them down. “How do you...?” He snatches off his gloves impatiently and flings them on the floor. I unfasten the button at the front of my leggings and let him push them down, my underwear getting dragged along with them. 

He chokes on a little laugh. “Silk boxers, Malfoy? Very nice.” My shorts are catching on me, clinging sticky and damp where my cock has leaked onto the silk. Potter gets everything pulled down around my thighs, my legs forced awkwardly together, and then he's yanking at his own clothes and cursing to himself. 

I'm standing there, arse on display, my skin all over goosebumps at being so exposed, and there's a moment where I feel his eyes on me and, oh, Merlin, I just want to sink into the ground. Then, holy fuck, the feel of Potter's bare cock, hot and eager against my skin, and so hard that for a second I think he's picked up the fucking broomstick again. But it's so much better than that, smooth and responsive and thick and glorious. I even think I can catch his scent, the intimate, utterly secret scent of a man. I want to drink him all in. I gasp, and Potter uses his hand to guide his prick along the crack of my arse until the heat of it spreads right down to my toes. 

He drags it back and the head catches against the sprinkling of hair I have there and makes me flinch. He pauses, then his wand is back, this time cold between my cheeks. I tense all over, then give a start of surprise at the wet, slippery sensation of lube, running over my cleft and dripping onto the base of my bollocks. My face heats and my thighs quiver with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. I try to straighten up but he presses me firmly back down.

“Potter– I don't― I've never—”

I'm not claiming I'm inexperienced. But I am – in the most basic sense – a virgin – and oh god, Potter's cock had felt bloody enormous, and surely these things take time, and care... 

He slides his fingers through the slickness, skimming over my arsehole, between my legs, over my balls and up towards my cock, which betrays me by bobbing at his touch.

“Really, Potter. You can't... I'll... “ 

I'll _what_? Merlin, he's got me wandless, bent over, lubed up, and I locked the fucking door for him myself. 

I swallow painfully around a dry throat. “Potter, _please_.”

“For god's sake, Malfoy. I'm not going to—” His voice is rough. His fingers wrap around my erection, spreading silky liquid over the head and making my jaw hang slack with pleasure. The meaty weight of his cock resumes its position, nestling between my arse cheeks. “I'll just do it like this... OK?” he asks.

I nod, not really sure what I'm agreeing to, but not wanting this to stop. This time, when he thrusts, everything is deliciously slick and easy. His cock glides against my skin now, caressing all over the sensitive seam of my arse, slipping across my entrance, but never attempting entry. I start to relax into it, relishing the honeyed rhythm of it. 

Potter runs his hands over me, my tunic bunched right up, his fingers now greasy with lube, hungry touches smoothing along the muscles of my back and the ridges of my spine. He squeezes my buttocks together, using the thick head of his cock to part them as it travels up and down, and he starts to croon, a low, satisfied sound emerging from his throat. The realisation dawns on me that I am going to hear what Harry Potter sounds like when he comes, and somehow the thought is almost unbearably erotic. My spine arches, angling my arse towards him, and I wonder what it would be like to have him inside me. Part of me regrets not finding out.

“Hell, Malfoy...” His voice is ragged. He makes another shuddery thrust and then stills for a minute, panting. “Merlin, I'm close.” Without him moving against me to throw me off balance, I can use one hand to let my cock meet my fist and start to push into it.

He reaches around startlingly fast and holds my hand still, his fist covering mine. “Your wrist all better now, is it, Malfoy?” 

I smirk to myself, knowing he can't see. “I heal very quickly.”

“You were faking, you bastard.” He's leaning forward, draping himself over my back to growl into my ear.

I shrug a little, his chest hot and damp against my spine. “So what if I was?”

His hand moves slowly over mine, making me wank myself. “And you crashed into me on purpose.” His voice is low and unamused.

I can't control a snort. “ _So_ sorry about your broom.”

His fist encloses mine tightly, imprisoning my fingers, and my cock beneath them. “I ought to walk out of here and leave you like this, just wanting it.”

My eyes widen. _He wouldn't. Would he?_

He makes my hand move with excruciating slowness. I fight against it, but his grip is like iron. Since when did Potter get so bloody _strong_? 

“But then I wouldn't get to do _this_.” 

He drops my hand, takes a moment to reposition himself, and then his fat cock is pushing into the space between my thighs. He casts the lube spell again, not bothering with his wand this time, and part of me can only think it's just another feather in the cap of the bloody Boy Who Lived. Fit as fuck - tick. Slayer of Dark Lords – tick. Cheats death – tick. Wouldn't you just know he'd be hung, and master of a wandless lube charm as well? 

The lube is trickling down my legs and I wriggle most inelegantly. He shoves my trousers and pants down a bit further. “Sorry if this messes up your fancy underwear, Malfoy.” He gives a grunt of laughter. “Actually, I'm not sorry at all,” and then he's fucking between my thighs, fast and rough, hands on my hips to keep me where he wants me, my body rocked by his movements so that I have to grip the slats of the seat tight for fear of smashing my skull against the wall. 

The world narrows to the back and forth of Potter's cock, the thick shaft massaging my flesh and jostling against the delicate underside of my bollocks. My own cock throbs with arousal, but I've no hope of tossing off – instead I feel like I'm clinging on for dear life, buffeted in the storm of Potter's desire. It feels desperate, primal... the sense of being taken and used is so novel, so intensely provoking, that I start to feel it's quite likely I'll come just from having Potter rutting madly between my thighs.

Just as I'm about ready to beg for a hand on my cock – I'd only need a quick stroke to tip me over the edge – Potter's grip on my hips tightens enough to bruise, and he starts to babble. “Fuck... Malfoy.... so fucking... yes... oh, god, you bastard, _Draco_.” My name on those lips... it shivers through me with an unstoppable thrill. 

Potter is jerking and yelping and I just wish I could _see_ ; I want to commit every bit of it to memory. I have the frankly brilliant idea to let my head drop down right in time to see the sublime moment that his cockhead emerges, pushing its way between the rift of my thighs, a spurt of come spilling from the end. It's almost too much; my knees threaten to buckle. Potter pulls back, making incoherent sounds, and I watch semen smearing onto my legs, his cock pulsing as he thrusts forcefully again and again.

He collapses against my back, panting hotly against my skin, his come dripping down my thighs. He leans on me like that for a minute, chest heaving, our position oddly intimate, then he sinks down onto the wooden seat next to me.

I straighten up, feeling cold and somehow bereft, a whine building in my throat. “Potter...”I begin.

He wipes a hand across his forehead. His hair is even worse than when he came in, sticking up insanely, his face sweaty and streaked with mud. “Just... just give me a minute.” He gulps air and rocks back and forth for a moment.

I scowl at him, then reach for my own cock. Bloody Potter. I start to pull myself off using quick, angry strokes.

He looks up and frowns, then manoeuvres himself to the floor with unsteady limbs. “I just needed a minute.” He shakes his head at me, and then the Saviour of the Wizarding World is batting my hand away and taking my cock into his mouth.

I think my eyes probably roll into the back of my head. I've been sucked off before, but this is as similar to those other times as a banquet is to a crust of dry bread. Harry Potter is kneeling in front of me, his Quidditch gear half on and half off, still wearing his muddy boots and his elbow pads, and his mouth... his mouth is owning me. 

Everything is hot and divinely wet, his lips are soft and curving, and his tongue... 

“What the fuck, Potter? How is that even _possible_?” I sound dazed. I _feel_ dazed.

He pulls back a little. “ _Parfelhung_ ,” he answers, rather indistinctly, around the head of my cock. 

“What?” I say, spluttering, then gasping, as his tongue seems to wrap itself right round my shaft.

He pulls off and grins. “Yeah, I know. I don't really get it, either, but it's Parseltongue. All I know is, since finding out I could speak it, my tongue can do weird things, and it's _really_ strong and flexible.” He bobs back on, letting me feel the full muscular length of it lapping from root to tip.

“Oh, dear _god_...” I moan, and he has to brace my legs, which are wobbling uncontrollably. I'm light-headed, but I force myself to keep my eyes open and gaze down at him and his crazy tongue. He smirks around my cock and lets me see his tongue swirling around it, almost moulding itself to the head as it does so. I think I might pass out. 

Potter pulls off again, using enough suction that there's a loud pop. “Impressed, Malfoy?”

Fuck, _yes._ “You're always such a bloody show off, Potter.”

“You've got to admit this is worth showing off about.” He gives me that dirty great smile again, the one I've often seen before, but never had directed at me, and something in my stomach flips over. “Want to try something weird?” he asks.

My eyebrows lift towards my hairline. This entire situation has been about the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. Also, possibly the best. However, my whole body is aching for release; I just want to stuff my prick back into Potter's lush mouth, have him curl his magic tongue around it, and come my brains out. The way I feel now, it would take about twenty seconds.

“Show me your Mark.” 

“What?” I wish I could stop spluttering, but really... why does sex with Potter have to be so surreal? 

“Do it, Malfoy. I just need to see a snake.”

I can feel spunk cooling on my skin, my balls are probably going to turn blue in a minute, and why the fuck would Potter want to see my Mark at a time like this anyway, the kinky bugger...? But I roll up my sleeve, watching him warily. 

He grins at me again, then his face takes on a look of concentration, and, gazing steadily at the Mark, he begins to speak. At first it's just a low hissing, but then the noise separates into sounds.

“ _Ssssheessaath hyyaasss, issi assuurrriiathh..._ ”

He pauses and takes me into his mouth again, winding his tongue around me. 

Oh. My. Fucking. God. 

“ _...fyyassaa shaaffiillllasss..._ ”

Potter's mouth... it feels like his whole mouth, but Merlin, maybe it's just his tongue, is... god, it's so snug, and... and strong... and it's moving like...

“ _...shili thiiathisha._ ”

... like... fuck, like a fist, so tight, then soft and yielding... it's sucking and releasing, sucking and releasing, and then, every time he slips off for a moment, these incredible otherworldly noises are coming from him.

“ _Hyaasii, issi fyashathiiia..._ ”

Sometimes he speaks around my cock, and then, _ohhh_ , then... the sounds are muffled and odd, but the _feeling_ of it is indescribable, as if he has... I don't know, maybe two or three tongues all moving together in synchrony, their sole aim being to give my cock the time of its life, and possibly to drive me insane while it's happening. 

“ _ashatha siissanatha..._ ”

Potter's face is strange and rapt and feral, and, if I'm honest, a bit frightening... and then he's drawing me down deep... _ahhh._ Pressing the base of his preposterous, muscular tongue against my shaft, and then...

“ _...lliathassa shiiash iffa..._ ”

… the end of it coiling around the head, and then...

“ _...ffiaffisha..._ ”

...the point of Potter's tongue starts _flickering_ against the slit, at which point I temporarily lose my grip on reality and what feels like a fucking tidal wave of orgasm bursts from the pit of my stomach, through my balls and out of my cock, into Potter's throat. 

For long moments, all I know is pure, intense pleasure, white-hot and consuming. Frankly, I'm lost, and I'm not convinced I ever want to be found again. When I regain my senses, Potter is sitting back on his heels and laughing.

“I've always wanted to do that.” He helps me to sit down without falling over. “Was it as good as it looked?”

I think I nod. I can't be sure.

Potter cackles a bit more. “Your face went all rigid. I thought I was going to have to Rennervate you.”

I pull my clothes up to cover myself. My silk boxers are completely trashed. I look at him sitting there cheerfully with his cock hanging out. 

"You're very pleased with yourself, Potter."

"Well." His cheeks seem to flush, and he looks down for a minute. Then he catches my eye again and a cheeky smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "To be honest, I haven't enjoyed myself so much for a long time. I am feeling quite pleased with myself, yeah."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You weren't planning to tell anyone about this." I collect my wand from where it lies in a corner, then use a quick cleaning spell on myself.

Potter frowns. "I hadn't thought about it." He pulls his clothes on, looking thoughtful. The cheeky smile returns. "Why, don't you think people would be interested, to know how I had you all bent over and squealing―"

"I was not _squealing_ ―"

"You were a bit."

" _You_ were grunting like a horny Hippogriff."

Potter's face is creased with laughter. "Yeah, maybe." He looks at me sideways. "It was all pretty hot. In my opinion."

I swallow, and lean to pick up my broom. "Some of it was OK." I fiddle with the twigs, pretending to check the alignment.

" _You're_ hot. You know, for a pointy, irritating wanker."

I poke the git with the handle, right in the stomach. 

He grabs the end and twists it away. "In fact, it was almost worth getting my Nimbus busted."

My heart's thumping away, but I keep my face neutral. "I could make you a deal."

"Mhmm?" He looks at me so innocently, his eyes wide and interested. It's hard to believe not ten minutes ago the filthy bastard had been shagging himself stupid against the crease of my arse.

" _If_ you agree not to tell anybody..."

Potter raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

“Perhaps we could do this again, sometime."

His eyes gleam with amusement. "Really? This exact same thing?"

I wave a hand. "No, no― I mean... something. We could do something." I think of his thick cock, how it would feel in my hand. My mouth. I hadn't even got a proper look at it.

"I like the sound of... something." He moves a little closer on the bench. He hasn't bothered with a cleaning charm, and I can smell his body, the scent of sex, and his sweat... and maybe some of the smell of me, too, mixed in, where he'd rubbed against me, and where he'd had his mouth on me. I suppose it's the smell of _us_. It's a strange thought.

"When could we do this... something?" He tilts his head. Sweet Merlin, I think Harry Potter might actually be flirting with me. 

_Now sounds good,_ says my treacherous brain. 

I pretend to think about it. "I might be free tomorrow afternoon."

I hate to say it, but the look on his face is actually bloody cute. Like a child who's been promised a treat. 

"Where?" he asks.

"Do you know the old Arithmancy classroom, down near the dungeons?"

"I'll find it." He stands and makes a grab for his Nimbus, frowning again at the crack. For a minute, his face looks thunderous, and damned if I don't feel a distinct stir of interest from inside my ruined silk boxers. 

"You still owe me for this, Malfoy."

My mouth feels dry. Why didn't I say I was free tonight? "We'll see about that, Potter."

He runs his broad palm gently over the splintered place, as if his touch could smooth away the damage. I know how that hand feels. How it trails fiery sparks over skin. His face is intent, serious; he cradles the broom as if it were alive.

My hands twist in my lap. "Potter... about the broom. I didn't actually mean to break it."

He frowns, still probing at the cracked handle, then lets out a sigh. "I've had this broom a long time."

"I'm... " I cough. "I'm sorry."

He looks up, studies my face for a minute, then peers back at the broom, turning it over in his hands.

“It was a bloody nice fly, you know? I've had some good times on it. But sometimes... hmm.” He frowns a bit more at the broom, looking as if he's working out what to say. “Working on something that's a bit fucked up, trying to make the best you can of it... sometimes, that's a lot more fun than something... easy, something that didn't need any effort." 

He looks surprised at his own words, and laughs. "Things that are too perfect are boring. Do you know what I mean?"

I'm not sure if I do, but I know I like watching his face as he talks. His lips curve into a smile and it feels like I can't quite catch my breath. The movement reminds me of his mouth stretching into those strange, sibilant shapes.

"Potter? When you were speaking Parseltongue.... what were you _saying_?"

He gives me a look up and down, a long, slow look, full of mischief, and promise, then turns and walks away, laughing. His boots echo on the tiled floor, and he brushes away my door-locking spell as though it were confetti. He's out of the door before he shoots one last look over his shoulder, and totally catches me checking out his arse, damn him.

When he's gone, I sit and stare at the empty doorway for a minute or two, then there's nothing for it but to finally get back to unlacing my shin pads. I'm left wondering not only what the fuck it was that happened here this afternoon, but if there's a spell to make the next twenty-four hours melt away, so I can skip ahead and find myself sitting in the old Arithmancy classroom, watching Potter throw the door open with a bang.


End file.
